Missing
by brokenmoonlight
Summary: It's the not knowing that frightens him the most, and he can't even comfort himself with the knowledge that, maybe one day, he'll have his friend back and he won't need the jumper anymore.
1. Lost

**A/N: This is going to be a two-parter, and this first part is very angsty, with more to follow. I actually quite like it, and I hope it reads okay. Of course, the best way of me knowing that is if you leave me a little review! Thanks!**

**Disclaimer: The Mighty Boosh belongs to Julian Barratt and Noel Fielding. I just play with it.**

**xxxx**

8am.

The sun tries to battle its way through the curtains, dust particles shimmering in the streaks that manage to break through the material. The kitchen tap drips, thumping against the steel of the sink, the only noise piercing the heavy silence in the gloomy flat.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

A young man sits at the table, papers strewn out in front of him. On closer inspection it is clear that they are leaflets. Leaflets with a photo of a different man on them. Leaflets with big, bold, urgent print.

Leaflets with details of a missing person.

They're all the same. Hundreds of them, but they're all the same.

The man at the table briefly wonders whether he should have had some made up with different photos, to catch other angles of the missing man, in case a person only recognised one side of him or... 

He shakes his head. He knows he's only hurting himself by thinking he's made mistakes; that he didn't try hard enough. He did try. He's still trying. But the others have started to give up, and as if what had happened hadn't already made him feel all alone, now he felt completely isolated. It's a year to the day, and there's been nothing. All along – nothing. Like he just vanished off the face of the earth, like he was abducted by aliens, like...

Like he never existed.

Even though all his stuff is still here, untouched, it's like he never existed – to the outside world, anyway.

The young man takes a deep breath, trying to stop the choke he can feel rising up his throat, the burning of hot tears in his eyes. He can't cry again, because how does it help? He should know by now that it doesn't, and he can't. He can't. He can't, he can't, he can't.

But he can.

And he does.

Wretched sobs wrack his body, and in a fit of frustrated anger his hand hits the table and swipes at the sheets of paper, sending them flying to the ground, some of them floating lazily in the air as they separate from one of the many piles. He tugs at his dark hair, breathing heavily, fingers moving round to dig into his eyes. He has to calm down – he has too. Otherwise, what use is he?

A million thoughts flood his mind.

He's still alive.

Is he still alive?

Is he scared?

It hurts that he might be scared. It makes the young man feel sick. As does the fact that he might be in pain, even after all this time.

What if he's dead?

Oh, God.

What if he's dead?

What if... what if he's been cruelly dumped in the middle of nowhere. All alone. Undignified. Hidden under mud and leaves. Alone.

All alone.

Dead.

No one to visit his makeshift grave.

No one to lay flowers and talk to him.

No one to mourn him.

Apart from him, his friend. But even **he** can't mourn, not for a death, anyway, because he doesn't know. Doesn't know if it's true or not.

But the inconceivable idea that his friend **might** be dead continues to consume him, and he starts to hyperventilate, shaking and panicking, and he stands and runs to the bedroom, ripping open a wardrobe door and pulling out a jumper.

His missing friend's jumper.

He sits on his bed and holds it close, inhaling the weak scent, the only tangible thing he has left of him. But even that has nearly faded, and he finds that he can't really smell him anymore at all.

It's the not knowing that frightens him the most, and he can't even comfort himself with the knowledge that, maybe one day, he'll have his friend back and he won't need the jumper anymore.

xxxx

10.42am.

He jolts awake. 

"**Vince?!"**

He looks over at the door to make sure it's shut, then squeezes his eyes closed again, hoping and praying that the lisping voice will go away.

"**Vince!"**

Go away. Go away, go away, go away.

A moment, a heartbeat. 

Then he hears retreating footsteps and eventually they fade away, the slam of a door putting a stop to them once and for all.

Vince sighs with relief and pushes himself into a sitting position, the jumper still tangled round him.

That night. That last night. 

He remembers so clearly still what they'd been doing...

**The fairground. Bright colours and jaunty music, children laughing and running around with balloons and sticks of candy-floss. Vince smiles. He's never been to an old-fashioned fun fair before, and he looks over at Howard, who's grinning insanely at him.**

"**Told you you'd enjoy it," he says, satisfied that for once, he was right. "See, not everything old is boring – and you thought it would all be made of wood."**

**Vince shoves his friend playfully and Howard laughs. **

"**I'm going to get something to eat. Want anything?"**

**Vince chews his lip in thought, thinking about all the tasty treats he's seen in the hands of eager children.**

"**Toffee apple, please."**

**Howard shakes his head, still smiling, and walks off towards the stall with the stripy awning. Vince wanders over to a bench and sits down, digging his heels into the grass and ripping it apart. He breaths deeply, the air smelling of sugar and oil and burning wood. He decides there and then that he loves that smell, will do forever.**

**He looks up towards the stall to see how far Howard has moved in the queue, and then frowns when he can't see him. He scans the other ones, twisting round on the bench to get a better look. When that throws up nothing, Vince pulls out his mobile phone and hits the speed-dial number for his friend. It rings.**

**And it rings.**

**And it rings.**

**'You've reached Howard Moon – please leave a message.'**

Vince searched for hours that night, and for months afterwards he would ring Howard's phone and listen to that pre-recorded message over and over again, just to hear his voice.

He was devastated when the phone company finally disconnected it.

He knew there was a reason why he always hated 'old.'

He hated that smell now, too. 

xxxx

1pm.

"**I need to report a missing person."**

"**Right. Child or adult, sir?"**

"**Adult. I've looked everywhere for him, but..."**

"**How long has he been missing?"**

"**About five hours."**

**The policeman looks at Vince incredulously. "It's usually best to wait twenty-four hours before reporting an adult as 'missing'. Are you sure he's not just out for the night?"**

**Vince eyes him desperately. "But he doesn't... I mean, we were out together, at that old fair that's in town. He only went to get something to eat, and he never came back and he won't answer his phone and -"**

"**Sir," the policeman said, holding up a hand. "Please, try not to worry. Is he on any medication at all? Any pre-existing medical conditions that might put him in danger?"**

**Vince shakes his head. "No."**

**The policeman sighs and picks up a pen, poising it over a pad in front of him. "Okay, I'll just take a few details and get an eye kept out for him, but that's the best I can do for the moment. What's his name?"**

"**Howard Moon."**

"**Age?"**

"**Thirty-four."**

"**And what was he wearing? Any distinguishing features?"**

"**Um, sort of beige coloured trousers, patterned shirt, navy-blue duffle coat. He's northern and he's got a moustache."**

**'Eye and hair colour?"**

"**Brown and brown. His hair's sort of..." Vince waves a hand around his head. "...untamed looking – floppy."**

"**And your name and phone number, sir?"**

"**Vince Noir, zero, eight, double seven, four, nine, double eight, seven, double two."**

"**And you're his..."**

"**Friend."**

**The policeman puts his pen down. "Have you spoken to his parents, at all? Or any of his other friends?"**

"**Not his parents, and they're in Leeds, anyway. No one else has seen him." Vince pauses. "It's not like him, you know? He doesn't just wander off."**

"**All right. I'll put a call out. If he comes back, let us know. If he's still not back this time tomorrow, come in again, okay?"**

Vince had gone away that night feeling let down and dejected, and he did go back. He went back over and over again, and soon he'd been on first name terms with everyone at the station, and even though they **did** try, nothing had come up – no sightings, no possible leads. Nothing. 

He lets out a sigh and picks up a pile of the leaflets he'd pushed to the floor that morning. He's going to spend the rest of the afternoon replacing the old ones – most of them have been torn down and blown away by the elements anyway. He thinks about Naboo, and briefly feels hurt by him, but he knows that Naboo has been doing his best, even if he does seem to have given up. If a shaman can't find a missing person, what hope in hell does Vince have? He shoves the leaflets into his bag and slings it over his shoulder, grabs his coat and stomps down towards the front door. 

Outside, it's freezing, and he pulls his coat closer around him. It's nearly Christmas, and the trees and fairy lights in peoples windows are twinkling, bright and colourful and cheery, a stark contrast to the dullness of the outdoors and Vince's feelings. Grey clouds roll by up above, and he looks at them, all fat and fluffy, and he knows it's going to snow.

Last Christmas had been awful. Howard had disappeared the week before, and Vince had struggled just to make it through the day. He'd refused to eat, despite Naboo and Bollo's best intentions to get him to do so. Even his presents, which were wrapped in red, shiny paper had failed to raise a smile; not that he'd opened them. His one from Howard had sat under the tree, pushed right to the back, because Vince couldn't bare to look at it. Bollo thought opening it might help, but Vince wanted Howard to give it to him himself, so instead he'd stayed curled up on the sofa in an old blanket, staring blankly at the TV, pyjamas still on, skin pale and hair lifeless.

"**Vince... Come on, please, eat something. You'll make yourself ill if you don't."**

"**I already told you – I'm not hungry."**

"**Look, how about I dish a little bit out for you, and you can just pick at it."**

**Vince glares at Naboo dangerously. "I'm. Not. Hungry."**

**Naboo tries a different tactic. "Howard wouldn't want you to be like this." **

**Vince feels himself start to come apart at the seams, threatening to explode. "Well, that's just too bad then, isn't it?! Stop acting like everything's normal. It's not normal, and it's not the same and I HATE Christmas!"**

It was true; nothing was the same. Nothing was the same without Howard. Everything felt... wrong. Jumbled up and broken, a jigsaw with pieces missing. 

Vince crosses the road, hardly bothering to look right and left as he does so. The fair is back in town, and as much as he doesn't want to go there, he **has** to, just in case the posters jog the memory of someone who was there the year before. Vince did think for a while that Howard had been kidnapped by Carnies, but the fair's owners and employees had been thoroughly questioned and investigated, and the police were certain they were not involved. 

As he gets closer, he can here the familiar sounds, and he begins to tremble slightly, and he knows it's not just because he's cold. The fairground seems creepy to him now, all fake happiness, colours disguising the hollow darkness underneath.

The sight of it makes him feel sick.

xxxx

1.32pm.

Vince runs from the fairground as fast as possible. He feels useless, like he's let Howard down. But he couldn't do it. He couldn't stay longer than it took to thrust a thick wad of posters at the man stood by the entrance to the fair, who was beckoning people in from the streets, the man who'd gotten a spark of recognition in his eyes as Vince had begged him to put them up. The man who'd said, sympathetically, "You've still not found him?"

He runs all the way back to the flat, cursing himself for his weakness as he goes, trying not to slip on the icy pavement, Chelsea boots offering little in the way of grip. When he reaches home, he flings himself inside and up the stairs, coming to an abrupt halt at the top, gripping the banister and gasping for air, his lungs burning and threatening to burst. He eventually pulls himself over to the sofa and collapses onto it, hating himself for not being out there doing what he'd promised.

xxxx

3.57pm

A few weeks after Howard first disappeared, several of Vince's friends had tried to get him to go out for the evening, and when he'd said no, they didn't understand. They didn't understand why Vince was so upset about Howard. Vince supposed it was because many times before he and Howard had announced they were leaving for one reason or another to pursue some wild dream, seemingly without a second thought for the one left behind. On the outside it seemed selfish, but they did it because deep down, they knew it wouldn't be forever. They always came back. And that was why it was different this time – one of them **hadn't **come back. 

Vince hasn't seen his friends at all since Howard went, because, really, they weren't his friends in the first place. They were just shallow hangers on. Howard was –** is - **his real friend, his true friend.

His best friend.

He wants his best friend back.

Vince hasn't completely shut down though. A while ago now, he'd decided to do something that he thought would make Howard proud of him – he learnt to drive; passed his test three months ago and bought himself a car – nothing flashy, just a four-year-old Mini Cooper in electric blue, some stars stuck on the side to jazz it up a bit. 

Jazz.

Howard's favourite music.

He can't seem to do anything now without it reminding him of the clumsy maverick.

Vince stands and wanders over to the mirror. He notices how drawn he looks, how thin. He was sure he never used to be **that **thin. He's not as flamboyant with his clothes now either. Gone are the sparkly jump-suits, over-the-top hair styles, high-heeled platform boots and feather boas. Now his uniform is quite simple; skinny jeans, clingy t-shirt, Chelsea or cowboy boots, maybe a glittery or printed scarf depending on his mood, a smudge of eyeliner. He runs a hand through his raven hair, raven hair that is still glossy, but now just mussed in a cute way rather than overly fussed with.

It's dark outside now, and the heavens have finally opened, snow falling heavily and landing softly on the frozen ground. Despite this display telling him otherwise, to Vince, the sky seems empty. Nothing seems to have a point to it anymore, including the expanse of deepest, darkest space - the stars fading into the blackness and the moon turning its back, planets pulled out of orbit and sucked into a black hole.

Vince jumps as the doorbell rings. Peering out the window to the street below, he see two police officers, and his stomach flips, because, somehow, he just knows. 

Knows everything is about to change.


	2. Found

**A/N: Here's the final part! It's quite long, so I hope it doesn't disappoint! Thanks for reviewing!**

**xxxx**

4.42pm

The police have just left, and Vince can hardly move. They asked him to go with them, that they'd take him to him, but he wanted to go by himself. He's shaking violently, shoulders heaving, breath entering his body in a series of short gasps and hiccups, and he doesn't even realise he's crying until he feels the wetness on his cheeks. He stands, and instantly loses his balance, hands flailing out for the arm of the sofa. When he's steadied himself, he tries again. A deep breath, and he seems to come to his senses, running to the bedroom and pulling a small case from under his bed, opening wardrobes and drawers and pulling out items of clothing. He disappears into the bathroom and comes back minutes later with a wash bag, which gets tossed into the case along with the clothes. Then, he's ready.

Almost ready.

He picks up the case and drops it in the living room on his way to the kitchen, where he scrawls a note for Naboo and sticks it to the fridge with a magnet. He goes to pull his boots and coat on, then picks up his car keys, makes sure he has his phone, wallet and the piece of paper the police gave him with an address scribbled on it, and picks the case back up.

Now he's ready.

Emotionally, he's all over the place, but for this, he is ready.

He reaches the top of the stairs and then stops and clings onto the banister. He can barely believe what's happened. An hour ago his world had all but stopped, and now... now it's spinning faster than ever.

"**Hi, Vince. Can we come in?"**

**Vince nods silently and steps back from the door, allowing them entry. He follows them wordlessly up the stairs, and they stand, until he gestures to the sofa with a flick of his hand. He feels sick. They're smiling, but he still feels sick. He can't work out if the smiles are sympathetic or happy.**

"**Sit down, Vince," the female officer says, gently.**

**Vince shakes his head. "I'll stand, thanks." He can't sit, can't keep still; so he paces. **

"**Vince, relax. It's good news."**

**Vince stops and stares at her, not quite brave enough to believe that it could ever be good news. He feels a weakness in his knees and now he does sit. He has too, otherwise he'll just fall to the floor.**

The police had been very good to Vince, and those two officers in particular had gone out of their way for him, against the rules, to inform him before they'd rung Howard's parents, only because, over the past year, they had come to see just how much Howard meant to Vince, and it went way beyond friendship. Vince had asked if he could be the one to tell Howard's parents, and they'd agreed, only Vince hadn't rung them yet. He wanted to wait. As awful as it sounded, because Howard was their son, their flesh and blood, Vince wanted to see him first, and he knew that was selfish, but he couldn't help it. Howard had asked for him – **him**. No one else, because the fact was, everyone else was still a bit hazy.

Howard had amnesia. Amnesia he was only just starting to come out of. And that wasn't the start of it. Vince couldn't even begin to conceive what had happened, because Howard himself couldn't even remember. He'd been found by the side of a country road, a country road in a remote part of the Lake District, of all places. How he'd got there, no one knew, but he'd had a nasty bump on his head and bruising down the side of his face. 

Vince was ecstatic beyond belief, but he was angry too, because a stupid error had meant that as the hospital had to put Howard on the missing persons list nameless, because even Howard himself didn't remember who he was, the photo of him they'd used, for some reason, hadn't been cross-referenced with the ones matching his description on the national database. That small mistake had caused an entire year of unnecessary grief and pain, and Vince was livid. And he would have remained completely oblivious if it wasn't for the fact that Howard's memory had slowly begun to return, jump-started by a key word. 

Vince.

The name of Howard's new psychiatrist. 

For a year, Howard hadn't even been his name. The doctor's had to call him something, so they'd asked him to pick a name, and he'd chosen Mark. But now Mark new that he wasn't Mark anymore – he was Howard Moon.

How much more he knew, Vince wasn't sure. What he was sure of, however, was that Howard must be feeling very confused and beyond terrified, maybe even more so than when he couldn't remember **anything**. 

Vince lets go of the banister and walks down the stairs.

xxxx

9.58pm

Vince doesn't care that he might be breaking the speed limit. He's driving through Yorkshire now, and it's taken him a lot longer that he'd hoped. The Christmas traffic has been murder, plus he had the rush hour to contend with – the M1 had been particularly frustrating. 

He glances briefly at the open A-Z on the passenger seat, still not comfortable with having to take his eyes off the road for more than a couple of seconds. Yorkshire is Howard's territory, a fact Vince is painfully aware of, and it's making him ache. The radio is soothing him though, the familiar accent of the DJ comforting and wrapping round him like a blanket. Of course, it's not exactly the same as Howard's voice, but it still helps.

His eyes blur, and he blinks them quickly so that the road clears in front of him. He's so close now – another hour or so and...

He wonders what he'll say to him when he gets there, how he'll act. Will Howard appreciate being pulled into a bone-crushing hug? He doesn't like to be touched. Or does he now? Does he even remember that he doesn't like it?

The world speeds by, buildings and trees blurring into one, like someone has taken a painting that's still wet and rubbed their hands all over it. 

Vince is getting tired, running now on pure adrenaline. He knows he should stop for a bit and rest, but he can't. Instead he presses down on the accelerator slightly and opens his window to let in a blast of cold air. It howls through the car, making it sound like he's in the middle of a violent storm.

He is, sort of. The snow up here is even worse than it is down south, and he knows he has to be careful. The car's wipers are working to full capacity, only just keeping the screen clear. 

The snow starts to fly in through the window, and in the end Vince has to close it. He's shivering now, and he turns up the heating slightly, turning it back down a minute later when it starts to make him feel sleepy, and he shakes his head to clear the fuzz.

xxxx

11.07pm

Vince pulls into the hospital car park, stopping the car and switching off the ignition. He sits there for a moment, the enormity of what's about to happen suddenly crushing him. He slaps himself mentally and unclips his seat-belt, stretching, arms above his head as he yawns.

"**You know, I wish you'd learn to drive."**

"**Yeah, yeah – one day." Vince is distracted as he reads his magazine and Howard pulls a face at him.**

"**I'm gonna have to pull over in a minute – need a rest."**

"**Hmm?"**

"**I said I'm gonna pull over for a bit. I swear, I feel like a taxi service sometimes."**

**Vince pays attention this time and grins. "I thought you liked driving me everywhere?"**

"**Shut up."**

Vince pulls his case from the back seat and slams the door shut. He locks the car and walks up to the hospital entrance, feeling light-headed and like he's going to cry again. As he enters, he takes a good look round, nearly bumping into another visitor as he goes towards the reception desk with his face tilted upwards.

"Can I help you?" the woman behind it asks, tapping a pen against her chin.

"Yeah," he says, knowing full well he sounds nervous, and no doubt looks it too. "I'm, uh, here to see Howard Moon. He's -"

"Oh, yes! You must be Vince. We're so glad you've come so quickly. I'll just page Doctor Harrison – he'll come and meet you. Please, take a seat." She smiles at him and picks up the phone.

Vince smiles back politely. He doesn't want to sit – he's been sitting for hours and his joints ache, so he stands, looking out the window at the whiteness that's settled over everything. He's not waiting long.

"Mr Noir?"

Vince spins round and smiles again. 

The doctor gives him a look of relief and gets Vince to follow him up to his office.

This time, Vince sits, and accepts an offer of tea. 

The doctor explains what happened the night Howard was found, tells Vince about his friend's injuries and about the amnesia. Tell him pretty much everything he already knew.

"Is he going to be okay now? Will he get the rest of his memories back?"

"I fully expect him to, yes," the doctor nods, smiling comfortingly. "You have to be prepared for Howard's behaviour to be erratic at times though – memories usually come back in bits and pieces, and he'll get confused by some of them. And when he remembers what happened that night... well, none of us know, and it will no doubt be very upsetting for him."

Vince nods in understanding, unconsciously wringing his hands together. "When can he come home?"

"Soon."

"Before Christmas?"

"Hopefully. I need to monitor him for a couple of days, but it should be okay. I'll transfer his medical care down to London. Now, would you like to see him?"

xxxx

11.45pm

Vince stands with the doctor at the door to Howard's room. His palms are sweaty, and he rubs them against his jeans.

"You know, if he's asleep, I can wait till the morning."

The doctor notices his anxiety and looks at him encouragingly. "It's fine, Vince. Trust me. He's awake – knew you were coming." He pushes open the door before Vince can say anything else and pops his head round the frame. 

A nurse walks out and gives Vince a smile as she passes. He can hear the doctor telling Howard he has a visitor, and then he leans back out the doorway and stands back for Vince to pass, and he does, with shaky steps, his head bowed. He hears a shuffle from the other-side of the room, and as the door closes behind him, he realises that he can't look, because tears are wobbling against the rims of his eyes. But he has too, because he remembers that it's Howard, **his **Howard, and he's been waiting so long...

A voice brings him back to reality.

"Vince."

Vince lifts his head, too late to stop the tears as they are already sliding down his face and dripping to the floor. He breaths deeply as his eyes travel up the body in front of him, hesitating before he looks at Howard's eyes. He sees a small smile on his friend's mouth, and it's all Vince needs to get the courage to meet his gaze, and when he does...

A hiccup escapes Vince's mouth, his face screwing up into a sob, and he launches himself forwards, flinging his arms around his friend's neck.

"Howard," he whispers. "Howard."

Howard hugs him back, holding the weeping man tightly too him and burying his face in his hair. "It's all right, little man."

Vince gasps at the use of his old nickname and pulls back to look at Howard properly. He puts his hands on his face. "You remember that?"

"Yes."

"And you remember me?"

"Yeah."

"**All** of me?"

"I... I don't know. I know that..." he frowns.

"What?"

"I know that you're not – and don't take this the wrong way – you're not as **pretty** as I remember."

Vince drops his mouth open. What does he say to that?

It doesn't matter though, because Howard grins, and Vince let's out a choked laugh between his tears and slaps a hand to Howard's chest. 

"You're evil."

"What?" Howard laughs. "I've got twelve months to make up for!" His face falls. "What happened to me, Vince?"

Vince is temporarily caught off guard by this sudden change, then remembers he is to expect it. He takes Howard's hand and guides him to the bed, sitting them both down.

"Hey, it's okay. It'll come eventually."

Howard sighs and looks at him. "Will it?"

"Yeah." Vince squeezes his hand. "I promise."

They sit there for a few moments, just looking at each other. Vince traces a light hand over Howard's face, smiling when he doesn't flinch.

"You hate being touched," he says, softly.

Howard screws his face up in thought. "Do I?"

Vince nods. "What else do you remember, apart from me?"

"I remember... I remember that I live with you in... London. Dalston?"

"Yeah."

"Is it just us?"

"No. There's Naboo and Bollo."

Howard's face is blank. "I'm sorry," he says, and he hangs his head, studying his hands.

"No, no don't be. It'll come back to you." Vince sniffs and wipes his face on the back of his hand. "I've missed you."

Howard looks at him, genuinely surprised, and that hurts Vince a little bit. Was he really that bad a friend?

"Really?"

"How can you even say that?"

Howard realises his mistake, and looks so horrified that Vince pulls him into a hug. 

"I did miss you, Howard. I missed you every day, every hour – every second. And I looked, I looked everywhere for you. I tried Howard, I really did. I'm so sorry it took me so long to get to you." He sobs again, burying his face in his friend's neck.

"Shhh – you did your best."

"Did I?"

"I'm sure you did."

Vince pulls back. "But in the end, it was you. You found **me**." He smiles gently, but soon crumbles again. "I thought... I thought you'd died," he says, voice catching in his throat. 

"I'm sorry." Howard reaches out and wipes away Vince's tears, a gesture Vince relishes. 

"When I couldn't find you at the fair, I..." he trails off, noticing Howard's look of confusion. He shakes his head. "That doesn't matter at the moment. What matters is **you**. What's in been like here?"

Howard shrugs. "Okay. They've been really good. I was actually thinking about leaving soon. Couldn't have stayed forever."

Vince looks around the room. It's tastefully decorated and homely looking, and it certainly has Howard's touch. The walls are a calming pale green, and there are a stack of jazz CDs in the corner. That makes him grin. "Jazz."

"What?" Howard follows Vince's line of vision. "Oh, yeah. The nurse put some on one day, and I really liked it."

"Liked it? Howard – you **love **jazz. You live and breath it."

"I do?"

"Yes! You have records though, not CDs. **Hundreds** of records. I can't believe that didn't jog your memory! Now I'm even more honoured."

Howard chuckles. "Yeah – you must mean a lot more to me."

Vince squeezes his hand and stares up at him. He still can't quite believe where he is. "You are real, aren't you?"

"I think so, yes." Howard places his fingers under Vince's chin and tilts his head one way, then the other.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, I'm just looking at you. That okay?"

Vince's eyes sparkle. "Of course it is."

Howard runs a finger down Vince's cheek, and then yawns, so he doesn't notice when he shivers under his touch.

"You should sleep," Vince says, removing Howard's hand from his face, and then he yawns too.

"Seems like you need to, as well. You've had a long journey."

"Mmm. Traffic was awful. I even started talking to myself at one point."

"You drove up on your own? It's a long way to go on your own."

Howard notices Vince grinning at him, and looks slightly unnerved. "What?"

"You don't know that I drive. I only passed my test a few months ago. You were always on at me to learn."

"I was?"

"You were."

"Well..." Howard rubs his chin. "In that case, well done."

Vince stands and stretches his arms out. "Come on you. Time to get ready for bed."

Howard frowns then, and looks like he's struggling with something.

"Howard?"

"Will you... will you stay with me?"

xxxx

4.32am

Vince wakes up in the early hours, and finds that the bed is shaking. He turns to look at Howard, who is fidgeting and moaning next to him in his sleep. On closer inspection, Vince can see a sheen of sweat on his brow, and his face is distressed. He puts a hand to his shoulder and gives him a gentle shake.

"Howard? Howard, wake up."

Howard starts to thrash about, so Vince shakes him harder, unable to hide the fact that he is scared.

"Howard!"

Howard's eyes fly open and hit sits bolt upright, breathing heavily. His hands reach out blindly. "Vince!"

Vince grabs them and tries to calm him. "It's okay, it's all right – I'm right here."

"I remember! I remember what happened. It's..." Howard is breathing erratically, and Vince puts an arm round him.

"Try and calm down, yeah? Easy does it."

"We... we were at the fair, and I... oh, I don't remember what I was doing, but there were these two men. They asked me something, and then I was walking with them – I think they needed help – and so I go with them to their car, and then they're pushing me into it. One of them punches me, and it must have knocked me out because when I wake up, it's hours later, and I hear them arguing – they're arguing about **me**. Something about me being the wrong man, and I pretend to still be asleep, but the next thing I know they're pulling the car over, and one of them gets out and grabs me from the back-seat, and then..." he trails of, the need for air now far too great.

Vince rubs his back soothingly. "You're doing great, Howard. D'you remember... d'you remember after that?"

Howard rubs a hand over his face. "He... he threw me into... I think it was a ditch, at the side of the road. I must have hit my head again, and then, and then I was here." He inhales sharply, and Vince knows he's about to cry. He gasps in air, shoulders shaking, and then a noise escapes his throat, followed by a torrent of tears.

Vince pulls him into his chest and wraps his arms around him, stroking his hair and rocking him back and forth as he sobs. "Shhh, it's all over now, it's all over." But he's angry – angry at the men who did this to his friend.

"Vince?"

"Yeah?"

"I want to go home."

"I know – we will."

xxxx

9.12am

"Please. Look, I know you're worried, but he'll be fine with me, honest. You're transferring him anyway, what's a couple of days? He just wants to go home. Let me take him today, and we'll go to the hospital first thing in the morning."

Doctor Harrison frowns at Vince, and then sighs. "Fine – but let me talk to him first. You do realise that he's going to have to give a statement to the police, don't you?"

"I know. Thank you."

xxxx

12.27pm

After a long good-bye to the staff at the hospital, Vince and Howard are finally walking over to Vince's car. Vince opens the back door and tosses his case onto the back seat again, not noticing that Howard is standing there staring at him, until he turns back round.

"All right, Howard?"

Howard shakes his head, as if clearing it, and then smiles. "I remember now. I remember you not driving, and I remember me going on at you to learn."

Vince grins at him, and then winks. "Scared?"

"Terrified," he jokes back, then looks the car over. "I like it – nice stars."

They load Howard's things into the boots of the car, and then climb in. Vince puts his seat-belt on and turns the key in the ignition. 

"Ready?" 

"As I'll ever be." Howard watches Vince intently as he smoothly pulls out onto the road, suddenly feeling very proud.

Vince glances at him and smiles. "You're not gonna start telling me what I'm doing wrong, are you?"

Howard laughs. "Not at all. I'm not sure if I even remember how to drive myself."

"Well, don't worry – we'll get that sorted." Vince turns a tight corner, thankful that the roads have been salted. It's stopped snowing, and the sun is bright, perfectly reflecting his mood. 

He has his best friend back, and he couldn't be happier.

Vince pulls into a petrol station a few minutes later, mumbling about how expensive it is, even up north. Then he laughs. "I sound like you," he says to Howard, who just looks at him in puzzlement. "Never mind. D'you want anything?"

xxxx

5.17pm

"Argh!" Vince lets out a frustrated sigh and smacks his hand against the steering wheel as he is caught yet again in rush hour traffic on the M1.

Howard chuckles. "Road rage isn't good for you, you know."

"But what's he doing?! Trying to switch lanes when there's nowhere to go." Vince tuts. "Twat!"

"Feel better?"

Vince tries to hide a sheepish smile. "Sorry."

Howard just laughs again and goes back to looking out the window, something he's done for almost the entire journey, taking everything in. When they passed through Yorkshire, Vince asked if Howard wanted to stop and see his parents, but not being able to remember them properly, he declined, saying he'd call them instead.

Vince said he'd make damn sure he did.

xxxx

6.23pm

"You ready?" Vince asks Howard as they stand outside the flat. 

Howard stares up at the building. "Nabootique," he says, before looking like he's about to lose his balance. Vince grabs him, steadying him as he clutches his head.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I think so." Howard takes a deep breath. "Nabootique," he says again, slowly this time. "Is... is Naboo a shaman?"

Vince smiles widely. "Yeah, that's right. Do you remember Bollo?"

"Bollo... Gorilla!"

"Yes! Oh, that's great, 'cause I had no idea how I was gonna explain a talking ape to you."

Howard's eyes widen and he looks at Vince in shock. "He **talks**?"

"Um..."

"Got ya."

Vince pulls a face at him and shakes his head. "You have **got **to stop doing that."

"But it's fun!" Howard retaliated, a smirk gracing his mouth.

Vince takes his arm. "Come on you – it's freezing." He puts the key in the lock and pushes the door open, calling up the stairs. "Hello?"

He waits a moment.

Nothing.

"That's good," he says, as he ushers Howard inside.

"Why's that?"

"Well, I thought it would be better if you came back to empty house. That way you can get settled before Naboo and Bollo come back, so you're more comfortable."

They walk up the stairs and Howard pauses at the top, just taking it all in. 

"Anything?" Vince asks.

"A little."

Vince takes Howard's hand and guides him to the sofa. "You sit down. I'll put the kettle on." He chucks his keys on the table as he wanders into the kitchen, and while the kettle is boiling he leans against the work-top and looks at his friend. Then he flicks his eyes around the flat, then back at Howard again.

Howard looks back, confused. "What is it?"

Vince smiles, making Howard instantly relax. "It's back to how it should be. You belong here."

Howard opens his mouth, but seems at a loss for words, so he smiles back softly instead.

xxxx

Christmas Day – 9.02am

"Vince... Vince!"

Vince mumbles incoherently and rolls over, swatting a hand towards the owner of the voice.

"Vince!"

Annoyed and still half asleep, Vince turns his head, blinking his eyes as he tries to focus on the shape looming over him. 

Howard.

His annoyance immediately vanishes, and he gives Howard a sleepy smile. "Hey."

Howard perches on the edge of Vince's bed. "Hey, little man – merry Christmas."

Vince pushes himself up and Howard hands him a mug of tea. His sleepy smile turns into a grin. "Thanks, Howard." He sips the hot tea carefully, then places it on his bedside table. "You all right?"

Howard looks at him, seemingly embarrassed by something.

Vince frowns. "What's wrong?"

"I... I didn't get a chance to buy you anything."

Vince wants to laugh, but the look of genuine dismay on his friend's face shuts him up. "Are you kidding?" he says, softly. "I've already got what I want – **you**. Howard, last Christmas was awful – I hated every second of it. Now I can start to enjoy it again. We both can."

Howard smiles. "Thank you."

"But you know," Vince continues, grinning cheekily. "I still haven't opened your present from last year. I put it in your wardrobe."

"You didn't open it?"

"No. You weren't there to give it to me."

Howard looks touched, and then walks over to his wardrobe and pulls the door open. He finds the parcel at the bottom at the back, and pulls it out, then reaches to the other side and grabs something else, which he hides behind him.

"Whatcha got there?" Vince asks, trying to peer behind Howard's back.

"Never you mind," Howard replies, sitting back down on the bed. He hands Vince his present and the smaller man tears into it, grinning when he pulls out a blue box. He opens it, his grin changing to a look of awe as he stares down at a silver ball chain with a silver guitar pick pendant. Looking closer, he sees that his name has been engraved onto it diagonally in swirly letters, and he picks it up, holding it up against the light.

"Do you like it?"

"Howard... it's beautiful." he puts it on, and then goes to hug him, but Howard puts a hand out to stop him.

Vince bites his lip. "You've remembered your 'no touching' policy, then?"

Howard smiles. "Actually, yes. But it doesn't apply anymore, not to you, and that's not it anyway. I know I said I hadn't been able to get you anything this year, but I was able to get hold of something I was supposed to get you about, ooh, a year ago."

Vince looks puzzled, and tires to think of what it could be, but then Howard brings his other hand out from behind his back and when Vince sees what he's holding, his eyes well up.

It's a toffee apple.

"You remembered," he says, his trembling voice barely a whisper. "Where did you..."

"Naboo got hold of it for me the other day."

Vince takes the apple and turn it over in his hands. 

"Vince?"

Vince sniffs, and he's no longer able to hold back his tears. He leans forward and throws his arms around Howard's neck, knocking him backwards. "Thank you," he mumbles against him, hiccuping back sobs and clutching at the back of Howard's shirt.

"Hey, hey," Howard says, gently turning Vince's head to face him. "What's all this?"

Vince hastily wipes his eyes and gives Howard a watery smile. "I'm sorry, it's just... you couldn't have given me a better present."

"You mean, the apple's even better than the necklace? Even better than **me**?" Howard says, his voice teasing and his eyes bright. 

Vince chuckles. "You're an idiot."

"I'm **your** idiot."

"Yes, you are."

Vince puts toffee apple down next to him, then takes Howard's hands and looks at him seriously. "You mean the world to me, d'ya know that? This past year has felt like a really slow death and I thought I was going to go mad. But you fixed it all, in that clever head of yours."

Howard gives him a gentle smile. "I might not have if the psychiatrist had had a different name."

"Don't. The fact is, he didn't, and you worked it out. God, I swear, if I ever find that man, I'll kiss him all over."

Howard cheeks redden slightly. "You know you mean everything to me too, don't you? You've amazed me, especially these past few days. I couldn't have got through it without you." He reaches a hand out and trails his fingers down Vince's cheek, the skin warm beneath them.

Vince leans into his touch, his gaze locking onto Howard's, and he shuffles forward slightly, bringing their faces closer together – so close, that their breath is mingling and they're each going out of focus in the others eyes.

"Howard?" Vince whispers, every inch of him trembling slightly.

"Yeah?"

"You know how I said I wanted to kiss your psychiatrist all over?"

"Mmm."

"Would you... would you mind if I kissed you instead?"

Howard swallows heavily, an action that makes Vince's breath catch in his throat. Howard doesn't say anything in reply, instead he closes the small gap between them and presses his lips ever so softly against Vince's. 

Vince puts a hand up to Howard's hair and tangles his fingers into it, pulling him closer. He want to taste all of him, and he doesn't hide that fact as he runs his tongue along Howard's bottom lip.

Howard takes him in, a small moan escaping his mouth on a rush of air. They kiss slowly and steadily, savouring every moment of it, taking the time to explore each other, hands caressing hair and faces.

When Vince pulls away for air, he notices that Howard is shaking. 

"I'm okay," Howard assures him, kissing the tip of Vince's nose. 

"I love you." Vince doesn't realise that he's said the words out loud until it's too late, but it's fine, because at the very same moment, Howard had said the exact same thing.

They laugh softly, about to enjoy another kiss when there's a thump against the door, and Bollo grunts through it that breakfast is ready.

"Come on," Vince says, climbing off the bed, pyjamas crumpled and hair sticking up in all directions. He takes Howard's hand and pulls him up. "I suppose the quicker we eat, the quicker you can open your presents." Vince goes to open the door, but before he does, he turns to Howard and gives him a quick kiss.

"Welcome home."


End file.
